The False Colors of a Facade
by Raivis-Latvijas
Summary: It had been four years since Novak Novkovic had left the Vargas Italian Mafia. He had found work as a bouncer at a gay strip club, and the police didn't suspect him of any crimes. Everything he had ever done had gone cold. He thought he was in the clear until one night, to his shock, in walked his mafia-affiliated former lover. SerbiaxCroatia, RusFin, violence and harsh language.


**A/N: **Here's a new story for everyone. There's only going to be two OCs really used extensively, and one is the main character. The other is a main character that comes in later. The rest of the characters are canon, other than the occasional OC that is only mentioned once or twice.

You'll learn more about the story as you read. There is some very, very butchered Italian in this chapter, so if anyone would want to translate, that would be lovely.

Enjoy.

**ooooo**

It was a winter afternoon, with snow on the ground and clouds covering the sky. The gloom was tossed aside by children playing in the snow, having snowball fights or building snowmen. They grinned happily, shouted and giggled, enjoying the winter for what it was. It was something joyful to observe. Something that made one man smile slightly, despite the thoughts that plagued his mind.

Novak Novkovic, a bouncer for a gay strip club whom went by the name of 'Filip Dragovic', walked down the sidewalk from his apartment, crossing through the park on his way to work. He had buzz-cut blonde hair, a patch of facial hair on his chin, and emerald green eyes. His body was heavily muscled, and covered in tribal-style tattoos. They extended to his neck, and then he had only a single one on his face, just under his right eye. The Serbian man wore a pair of light-colored jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black zip-up hoodie. Some people gave the 6'3" tatted man weird looks, mainly for the logo on the front of his hoodie, and the lettering on the back.

Novak was a bouncer for 'The Eurostar', a popular strip club in the gay community in the city. The front of his hoodie had the rainbow star that was the well-known logo of the club, and the back of it said in bold white letters 'Eurostar' and 'Dragovic'. He was a distinguished man at the club; many men often asked to get the man's number or hook up for the night, but Novak, or 'Filip' as the club-goers knew him as, rejected any offers given to him. He used the excuse that he was in a relationship, when in all reality; Novak was just about the loneliest man on the planet. His only friend was the bouncer who worked the main door; a short, leanly muscled Finnish guy named Tino Väinämöinen, whom was paying his way through nursing school by guarding a door every night from six to four, no matter what the weather outside was.

Not many knew Novak's past; not even Tino. Tino didn't know Novak's real name wasn't 'Filip Dragovic'. Tino didn't know that Novak used to be one of the worst kinds of people. A murderer. Not just one murder, but many. That was four years ago; somehow, the police hadn't caught him yet.

Novak had been in a local mafia; a branch of the Italian Mafia that resided in the city. He had been a hitman, and taken out targets for the mafia, and had gotten paid a lot of money to do so. He had taken out numerous targets and not been caught. The murder cases were cold, and no one suspected Novak was responsible for them. He had been good at his job, but sadly, when he was ordered to do a political assassination, he nearly got caught, and left the mafia to try to escape capture.

He drastically changed his appearance within two days, and looked unrecognizable, even to police who had seen his face in pictures. He used to have slightly curled, medium-length hair, and had no tattoos whatsoever. The mafia had some affiliates in the city, including a tattoo artist, who stayed up for an entire day, tattooing Novak's arms, torso, back, legs, and the small area on his face. The only places that weren't tattooed were Novak's groin and behind. He had endured his entire body tattooed in a single day, and had done it just to keep what freedom he had.

He could remember the day of the assassination vividly. He remembered it every day.

_It was a bright summer day during an election year for mayor of the city. An ultra-popular politician, a man named Liam Kirkland, was campaigning and was strongly anti-mafia, and if he had been elected, there would have been a lot of steep blows to the mafia's ways. Novak was the first line of defense against people who needed to be eliminated, but he had never assassinated a politician._

_Liam Kirkland was to be making a speech, standing on the steps of city hall, talking to the people, trying to persuade them to vote for him._

_Novak sat in the headquarters of the mafia, a mansion that was owned by the boss, Lodovico Vargas. The boss's grandsons sat next to Novak on the couch in the main room, Romano and Feliciano. Romano was also a hitman, but Lodovico wouldn't let him do such a risky assassination. Feliciano was more of a happy-go-lucky recruiter. He had an eye for people who were eager to join a criminal organization._

"_So this is the last one you're doing, huh?" Romano looked to Novak, who nodded his head. Novak was cleaning his sniper rifle for the assassination._

"_Boss is removing my thumb before I leave so that I won't have to return here after the assassination."_

_The removal of the left thumb was the only way to get out of the Vargas Branch of the Italian Mafia. It signified the removal of the option of choosing life or death for others. Lodovico had explained the history behind it simply; "The Emperor would gesture with his thumb to gladiators in the Roman Colosseum to signal whether one died or lived. Being a hitman of this mafia, you are the emperor whom judges if one will die or live with the pull of a trigger. Taking away the thumb is like taking away that ability to fulfill that duty and make the final decision as to whether someone dies or lives."_

_It made sense in a way, and the police weren't sure of the practice due to a lack of live members leaving the mafia. Bodies of members were found on occasion, but most of them didn't have their thumbs removed. Police couldn't identify anyone based on looking at their hand for a missing finger._

"_Good luck out there. We need you to succeed." Feliciano smiled warmly, placing a gentle hand on Novak's back. The Serbian-born man smiled at the Italian, before turning his head to the nearby stairs, where footsteps could be heard._

_Lodovico, the head of the Vargas Branch, descended down the stairs, wielding a hatchet in his right hand. He looked to Novak and nodded his head._

"_Are you ready, Novak?" He asked. Novak nodded and stood, heading to the kitchen. That was where his thumb was to be removed. It was the place where those who wanted to leave the mafia got their thumbs removed as well._

_Lodovico followed the Serb with a smile on his tired face. Novak placed his left hand on a red cutting board on the kitchen island, closing his eyes. He felt the prick of a needle enter the skin; a numbing agent to make it less painful. Then a second needle prick. Another small dose to make sure it would be as pain-free as possible. Novak had to use his hand in about an hour to complete his final task for the mafia._

_He felt a cotton ball being rubbed against his skin; it was soaked in disinfectant. Lodovico wasn't just lopping off his finger uncaringly. Novak had been one of the most dedicated members of the Vargas Mafia, and it was vital that he was able to survive and not suffer a deadly infection. Novak knew that once the finger was removed, it would be stitched up, disinfected, wrapped in bandages, and then encased in clear glue to make sure that no blood seeped through the bandages and dripped onto the ground to leave evidence for police._

"_Are you ready for me to remove it, Novak?" Lodovico asked._

"_Yes, boss." Novak turned his head away, shutting his eyes tight. He didn't want to witness the removal. He knew the pain would be excruciating even with the anesthetics, but it didn't matter. He wanted it over with and he wanted to just get the assassination done with and be over with this part of his life._

_With one swing of a hatchet, the left thumb was removed swiftly. Blood poured from the wound, but Lodovico was quick to stitch the wound closed even through the crimson liquid. He disinfected the wound with a god of some kind of anti-bacterial ointment, and then bandaged over it. Once it was bandaged, the man coated the wrappings in glue. Once the process was over with, Novak could finally recoil from the sheer pain in his hand. The initial chop had been agonizing, but he had forced himself to be still. Now, with it bandaged and coated, he was able to show the pain he was in. He leaned against the counter, doubled over. Lodovico cleaned up the mess while Novak resisted the tears that stung at his eyes._

_When Novak became used to the ache, he retrieved some painkillers that Lodovico had set on the counter for him, and took them without need for water. He took a deep breath, and then went over to the couch, where Feliciano and Romano were still sitting. They both stood and hugged the Serbian man._

"_Good luck, fratello." Feliciano said. Everyone in the mafia was family. Novak was a brother to these two. Novak nodded his head at Feliciano in silent thanks. Romano handed Novak his sniper rifle and gripped the man's shoulder with his free hand._

"_We're counting on you." Romano said. Novak walked to the front door of the mansion with his rifle in hand, glancing over his shoulder to a man he had nearly forgotten to say goodbye to._

_Andelko Begovich, his lover for the past two years. Andelko was a Croatian man with short black hair and a beard, and he had brown eyes that were, at the time, full of sorrow. This was their final parting. Once Novak exited the mansion, he and Andelko couldn't be seen together for fear that Novak would be caught for the assassination he was about to attempt._

"_Andelko…" Novak turned around and looked at the man. They were both wearing similar black suits with white dress shirts and black ties. It was almost as if they were dressed for a funeral. It practically was; this was the death of their two-year romance. They so desperately loved each other, but they both had obligations to the mafia. Andelko would stay and continue his line of work, while Novak would leave and hopefully lead a successful life outside of crime, if he made it out of the assassination without being caught._

_Andelko walked up to him silently, but wrapped his arms around the man in an embrace full of emotion. Sorrow, despair, pain, regret… __Love__. Novak returned the embrace tightly, whispering quietly in the man's ear._

"_I will always love you, Andelko. Don't forget me."_

_Tears flowed down Andelko's cheeks as he responded. "And I will always love you. Don't forget me either, Novak. Perhaps someday, when we're both out of this, we can find each other again."_

"_Perhaps." Novak released the man for a moment before kissing his lips one last time. He pulled away slightly, lips grazing against the other's as he spoke again. "If we do not find each other, then I will see you in heaven when we die."_

_Andelko took a step back and nodded to Novak. "Good luck." He said. Novak nodded his head and turned around, reciting a paragraph in Italian that every hitman who left the mafia permanently had to say before he exited the home one last time._

"_Ora, il pollice dell'Imperatore, il signore della morte lascia il trono per una ascensione alla vita. Nel calore di estate e il freddo dell'inverno, l'Imperatore dorme nella culla di origine contadina, con solo un ricordo e una cicatrice per lui, con la sua famiglia. Possa egli riposare tranquillamente, con i torrenti di vita leccare ai suoi piedi, non consuma, perché lui era grande. Lui stata una volta l'Imperatore."_

_Now, the thumb of the Emperor is taken, and the man of death leaves his throne for an ascension to life. In the heat of summer and the cold of winter, the Emperor sleeps in the cot of the commoner, with only a memory and a scar to tie him to his family. May he rest calmly, with the torrents of life licking at his feet, not consuming him, for he was once great. He was once the Emperor._

_Novak then opened the door and exited the home, shutting the door behind him and heading to his car. He drove safely to the parking garage he was to perform the assassination from, and positioned himself at the top. Liam Kirkland, the targeted Welsh politician, was in perfect view, just starting his speech to the people of the city. This gave Novak time to dial in his aim and get ready._

_With the crosshairs on the strongly anti-mafia politician, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, before pulling the trigger. The .50 Caliber bullet hit Kirkland's skull with devastating force. Blood and brains splattered the ground and the politician's head was gone. The body slumped to the ground, and Novak could hear the screaming and calamity of the crowd reacting to the assassination even being so far away._

_He quickly retrieved the spent shell casing off of the ledge of the parking garage, and hurried to his car, shoving his things inside and leaving quickly, though not chaotically. He didn't want to bring any attention to himself, or get pulled over, especially with the evidence of the shooting in the back seat of his car._

_He drove out of the city and went to a very rural area, driving to a river and parking the car on the bank. He retrieved some clothes from the passenger seat, changing into a simple pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, and a pair of tan work boots. He used a pair of scissors to cut away at his slightly curled blonde hair until it was very short. It was butchered and uneven, but it would have to do. He had to change his looks. If anyone caught a glimpse of him, whether it be security footage or a civilian account, it would now be inaccurate. He also had one other thing left to do once he got back to the city; he had talked to a tattooist who was good friends with the mafia, whom had agreed to tattoo however much Novak felt necessary to feel inconspicuous to police._

_After changing his clothes and butchering his hair, he sighed heavily, and then shifted the car out of park, shutting off the ignition, and using what strength he had to push the car into the deep river. It sank quickly._

_Novak turned and walked back to the road, thankfully, no one having been down the road in a while to have seen him push his car into the river or walk back to the road. He walked along the edge of the road, holding his right hand out with his thumb extended, like a hitchhiker asking for a ride._

_After about ten minutes of walking, someone pulled over and let him in the car._

"_What're you doing walking out here in this heat? Christ, you'll fry!" The guy driving joked. Novak chuckled._

"_Thank you so much. You heading into the city?" He asked._

"_Yeah." The driver was a young man; a lean guy with short blonde hair and near-violet blue eyes. "I'm actually heading to a job interview."_

"_Oh, that's cool. What're you interviewing for?" Novak played along with conversation, as if he hadn't just killed a politician._

"_A bouncer. They're looking for guys to guard the building."_

"_You don't look like much of a guy for bouncing, no offense."_

"_Oh don't worry about it. I'm stronger than I look. My name's Tino, by the way. Tino Väinämöinen. You?" The driver smiled, though he didn't take his eyes off the road. A safe driver._

_Novak quickly thought of a name to call himself by. "Filip Dragovic."_

"_Sounds Slavic."_

"_I'm Serbian. What about you? Are you from around here?"_

"_Oh, no. No way. I'm from Finland." Tino laughed. "So, Filip, what do you do for a living?"_

_Novak was quick to think of a lie. "I did odds and ends jobs for a while, but I'm currently unemployed."_

"_Really? Well, at the place I'm getting interviewed to work at, they're looking for bouncers. You could apply there, if you'd like. You seem pretty tall."_

"_Yeah, I'm around 6'2", 6'3"."_

"_Wow. Well, I guess I should tell you that the place I'll be working at if I get the job is, uh… a gay strip club. I'm gay, so it doesn't bother me. I'm trying to work my way through nursing school."_

"_Oh, that's great. I hope you don't mind me saying, but I'm gay as well, so it wouldn't bother me either."_

"_Sweet relief." Tino laughed a bit. "That's cool that you're gay too. You seem like a nice enough guy, too. Sociable, at least."_

_Novak chuckled. "I could use some friends here in the city. I left my boyfriend John in the next town over. I've been walking all day."_

"_Jesus Christ, really? You must be desperate to get away from him, huh? Can I ask why?"_

"_He was controlling and demanding of me. Acted like I was property, you know? I didn't have anything when I got with him, and I left with as much as I brought."_

"_Oh that's too bad. Well, if you'd like, you can stay with me for a bit."_

"_Nah. Just drop me off around the Ink Mafia tattoo Shop. I have a friend that works there."_

"_Alright."_

_Tino eventually got into the city and got to the tattoo shop, leaving Novak his cell phone number and dropping him off. Novak waved goodbye to the Finnish man, then went inside the tattoo shop. Inside, was a friend of the mafia's; Nikodemos Antonov, often just called "Ink". The Macedonian man had his arms tattooed, and one side of his neck._

"_Hey Ink, let's get this started." He said. Nikodemos was already prepared to do the tattoos. He had gloves on, had his equipment ready, and was waiting by a bed that Novak could lay down on to get his tattooing done._

"_How much do you want tatted, Novkovic?" Nikodemos asked as Novak removed his t-shirt and sat on the edge of the bed._

"_Both arms, my chest, and my back, and then if I'm still alive when you're done with all that, my legs. I want to look as drastically different from my typical self as possible. Oh, and if you could, put a bit below one of my eyes. I want something to make my face less recognizable, but I still want to look like a decent human being."_

"_Alright. And you want me to freehand all of this?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Easiest to do would be a tribal pattern, I suppose. I'll make it look good. I hope you have a high tolerance for pain."_

"_I got my thumb lopped off today. Tattoos are the least pain I'll have taken."_

_The tattoo session lasted an hour at a time, with half hour breaks between so that they both could rest, for pretty much the rest of the day, and far into the night. Novak was sore as all hell, but the tattoos didn't hurt half as bad as his left hand._

_Novak stayed with Nikodemos for a few days, and they both watched the news every day. Police linked the assassination to the mafia, but could do nothing more than that._

_Novak had left no evidence behind._

As he walked into the familiar dim-lighted, colorful Eurostar Club, he went to the security staff room and saw Tino there already, waiting for him.

"Good afternoon, Filip." Tino smiled warmly at the other man. It had been four years since Tino had picked him up off the side of the road. Four years that Novak had been living a lie that the poor Finnish soul believed.

"How was class this morning?" Novak asked as he shed his jacket, hanging it on a hook on the wall. His black t-shirt had the same design as the hoodie.

"You know how furthering education is these days. Tiring, but I had like five cups of coffee on my way here, so I'm wired for tonight." The Finn chuckled. "How had your day been?"

"Not bad. You know me; I look forward to coming here because I don't have anything else to do."

"You ever think of actually going out with one of the guys who ask you out? I mean, it couldn't hurt. And that excuse about you being in a relationship? Jesus, Filip. That's ridiculous. If you were in a relationship, you wouldn't be bouncing inside a gay strip club. You'd be working as a guard for a pawn shop or something."

"What if I don't want to be in a relationship?"

"It's been four years since you got here, and I haven't seen you even kiss another man. You've taken rather perverted pictures with some of the guys here, but other than that, nothing that would even suggest you even being gay."

"I'm just waiting for the right guy to come by, you know? I don't want to hook up just to fuck and never talk again afterwards. I want something committed."

"You have been waiting for four years. Four years, Filip. What do you see in an ideal man?"

"Masculine, strong… Ambitious and determined, and unafraid to show emotion." Novak knew he was describing the man he had left four years ago in order to be free from the mafia.

"So, wait, are you top or bottom when it comes to sex?" Tino stared a bit confusedly at the 6'3" Serbian in front of him.

"Well, either way. It all depends."

Tino sighed in frustration and smacked Novak's cheek lightly. "You're so frustrating sometime, you know that?"

Novak laughed. "Of course."

The two exited the security staff room and took their posts. Tino stood outside the main door and began letting people in, while Novak sat on a stool in a high corner, overlooking the club to ensure everyone's safety. Tino let people in the doors; some men sat at the bar and ordered drinks while others went to tables and chairs around the stages, awaiting the arrival of the dancers, who came out a few minutes after the club opened.

Novak watched with keen eyes; he knew who the troublemakers were. At the moment, they were civil, but he knew to keep an eye on them. When the dancers came out, Novak kept his eyes trained on the crowd. He had learned to watch the crowd and not the dancers; it had taken some work at first, but coming in day after day, working the same job, he got rather bored with the dancers, and would rather watch the crowd toss money up on stage as the got drunk and ended up getting kicked out for being a bit _too_ friendly.

As the night went on, Novak finally had to get up out of his chair and break up a squabble that had flared up between two burly men. One exited the club before Novak could get up to them, and the other turned to Novak drunkenly, putting up his fists in a challenge for a fight.

"Come on, man, you don't want to get your ass dragged out of here on a stretcher." Novak warned. The man swung at Novak, but the Serbian man was quick to react and grabbed the man's hand, then shoving him towards the door. "Get out of here."

The drunken man made his not-so-glorious exit, and Novak returned to his stool at the corner of the room. He watched as three men entered the club. All three were in black slacks and white button-up shirts. They looked eerily familiar. There were two men who looked exactly alike with what Novak assumed was either auburn or some shade of brown hair, and the third man was tall and had short black hair and a beard.

Novak nearly had a heart attack when he recognized who the three men were.

Feliciano, Romano, and _Andelko._


End file.
